


Memories of ghosts and shadows

by toxic_filth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood Friends, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxic_filth/pseuds/toxic_filth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the murder of her family at the age of sixteen Reader ventures to Europe in her search for revenge, leaving behind her old life. </p><p>Ten years later she returns to America, but can see pick up the pieces of her former friendships?</p><p>(Mainly written from Sam's perspective)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghost Ship

Heavy footsteps sounded quickly upon old oak floorboards, accompanied by gasps for air as Sam Winchester raced below the deck of The Painted Lady, every now and then looking over his shoulder at his pursuer.  
There had been a bout of mysterious deaths upon the ship in which he and his brother Dean decided to investigate after they had rolled into town not too long ago.  
After a little poking around with the assistance of their fake FBI badges and some help from the local library they had concluded that the deaths were the cause of a man, Greg Harper, who had worked as a character actor for the company that rented out the ship for parties and events. There had been a falling out between Greg and the manager which lead to his dismissal and in a fit of madness he'd hung himself in one of the cabins.

It should have been a simple salt and burn, however the Winchesters had sadly discovered that Greg had been cremated and that there were no remains left to burn, which meant there was something on the ship that kept Greg tied to it.  
It wasn't small either, it was one of those 18th century vessels that had three separate levels with numerous passageways and rooms to accommodate at least thirty families.

Dean had protested gravely, saying it was too dangerous for them to go into a confined area without knowing where to look but Sam had asked what choice did they have? They couldn't exactly set the whole ship on fire and so Dean begrudgingly followed his brother up the dock as soon as it hit midnight and dark had fallen upon the town.  
Yellow crime tape was stuck crudely to the gate that blocked off the entrance but it didn't take long for Sam to pick the lock and push the gate open, creeping up the walkway to the top deck with Dean close at his heel, gun and flashlight drawn cautiously.  
"Okay, so according to the blueprints the cabin which Greg hung himself in is on the second floor of the west wing. That's where they kept all the costumes." Sam said and having committed the map to memory began to approach the door when they had been attacked. 

They had known the Greg's profession was to play a pirate but Sam had never guessed that the guy actually thought he was a pirate and had been surprised to see him in full gear, brandishing a sword. He didn't think ghosts could actually weald swords until that night as he and Dean were split up and chased around by the crazed wannabe pirate.

Behind him Sam could hear a maniacal laughter as he barrelled through the west wing in a desperate attempt to escape his persuer as well as find the room that likely held the object keeping him here.  
As Sam turned a corner he could see at the end of the corridor a room which looked like it could be the one he was looking for and so like a bat out of hell he pushed himself forward, long legs carrying him the distance until he flew through the door and slammed it behind him. Fumbling in his pocket he draw out a small leather drawstring pouch and opened it, beginning to shake out a line of rock salt until a great force propelled him backwards and into the adjacent wall.  
Spluttering as the wind was knocked out of him, Sam lead there for a moment in a daze until he saw the ghost above him, holding his sword aloft and about to bring it down upon him but Sam was too quick, rolling out of the way and getting to his feet.

The ghost growled like a ferrel dog as he turned to face Sam, who looked left and right for some sort of weapon to defend himself with since he'd lost his gun elsewhere. Noticing the hilt of a sword poking out from one of the costumes that hung on the rails in the room, Sam grabbed it and pulled out a long, steel rapier, holding it out in front of him.  
The ghost looked at him for a moment before it threw its head back and let out a long, strangled laugh before launching himself at Sam, slashing wildly at him.  
Before Sam could even think he drew his sword to block the hit, parrying to the left and countering several more attacks. The ghost snarled angrily as none of his hits landed and it began to quicken it's strikes, but Sam was too fast, leaping backwards out of the way of one slash when Dean was at the door. 

"Dean! The costume!" Sam shouted as he ducked from another blow, seeing an opportunity to push back by jabbing forward and almost catching the ghost in the arm. It gave out a cry of anger and was about to attack again when all of a sudden it let out a shrill scream and was consumed in flames. 

Sam sighed in relief as he stared at the place the ghost had stood as he and Dean panted, regaining lost breath. 

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean asked after a moment and Sam turned his head, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"What was what?" He asked. 

"That." Dean said, pointing to the sword that was still grasped in Sam's hand. "I didn't know you could do that."

Sam looked from the weapon to his brother, pausing for a moment in thought as he himself tried to recall where he had learned to defend like that. He knew it wasn't instinct alone. 

"Oh." He said after a while as everything came flooding back. "(Y/N) taught me when we were kids."

Dean reeled back in surprise. "(Y/N)? As in snot-nosed little brat (Y/N) (L/N)?" He asked incredulously.

Sam gave him a look before nodding his head. "Her dad used to make her take fencing lessons. Whenever Dad went on a hunt with her parents she used to show me what she'd learnt." He explained, a solemn tone to his voice. 

It had been a long time since he had thought about (Y/N) and her family. Even now, after all these years, it still stung.

Dean, sensing the change in his brother's mood, offered him a sympathetic sort of smile. "I still have the scar from where she decked me that one time." He said, reaching to tentively brush a hand over the white mark above his eyelid. 

Sam snorted. "Yeah, you deserved that." He said, chuckling at the memory as he set down the sword and followed Dean out of the room as they went to find Sam's gun and get the hell out of dodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This is my first Fic here! I'm actually writing and posting this on holiday so I apologise if there are some mistakes. I'll properly go through everything when I'm home.


	2. Bittersweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam falls asleep in the Impala and has vidid dreams of days gone past.

Sleeping in the Impala had become a second nature to Sam. The purring of the engine, the soft rattle of the suspension was almost soothing. It reminded him of times when he was much younger, his little eyes drooping as his father drove them to the next town, the windows rolled down and the sound of classic rock playing from the radio.   
Things hadn't changed much, only now it was Dean driving the Impala in their father's stead, but other than that everything still remained the same. Dean still insisted on the same music, despite Sam's regular protests. 

They hadn't slept since yesterday and it was somewhere in the AM when Sam felt his eyes flicker shut and he strained to keep them open, shifting in his seat and rubbing them with his knuckles to try and ease the pressure.   
It didn't seem to work though, soon his head lolled to the side and sleep finally took him. 

He was sat on the edge of a girl's bed with an issue of Archie on his lap. He could tell it belonged to a girl because of the purple flower patterns printed upon the sheets. He must have been about thirteen then, his hands were a hell of a lot smaller and his hair fell in front of his face in an unruly fashion.   
To his side on the floor lay a girl around the same age, her (H/C) hair pinned into pigtails on the side of her head as she kicked her legs back and forth, reading through another addition or Archie. 

Sam realised that this wasn't a dream but rather a memory of his childhood that had been locked away in the recesses of his mind that had awakened suddenly. 

"What do you want to be when you grow older?" He found himself asking the girl. 

She turned her head to look at him, (E/C) eyes full of questioning, her lower lip jutted out. "I haven't thought about it." She admitted with a shrug of her small shoulders. "Why?"

This time it was Sam's turn to shrug. "I dunno, jus' wondering is all..."

The girl stirred from her position on her tummy, pushing herself upright and crossing her legs. "Don't you want to be a hunter like your daddy?" She asked. 

Sam screwed up his face and shook his head. 

"How come?" The young girl pressed. 

"I just want a normal life. You know, like you have." Sam explained, fidgeting with the page of his book. 

The young girl scoffed. "I wouldn't exactly call us normal." She drawled. 

"Well, you're more normal than us. At least you have a home." Sam mumbled. 

She paused for a moment in thought, getting up and sitting down beside him, the springs of the mattress hardly bending under her little weight. She took up his hand and squeezed it. "Your daddy's only doing what he thinks is best for you Sammy." She said softly, although to him it sounded rehearsed. 

"Do you want to be a hunter?" Sam asked her outright, watching as her face contorted to one of uncertainty, nibbling on her lower lip as was her habit when she was deep in thought. She couldn't answer him yes, but she couldn't say no either which spoke volumes to him. 

"I just wanna do what's right by 'em." She said finally with a heavy breath. "What else can I do?" She sounded hopeless. 

"We could run away together." Sam suggested. 

She let out a laugh. "Sammy, you're barely thirteen an' I ain't even halfway through twelve. We can't run away together."

"Sure we could." Sam said, shifting his weight a little as he turned to fully face her. "I already know how to hustle pool and you're pretty good at poker."

She gave him a funny look, one eyebrow raised, a half smile tugging at her lips. "An' where would we go exactly?" She quizzed him. 

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Gimme a sec." He said, turning to look around her room, searching for inspiration. He noticed a snow globe perched on top of the dresser and went to pick it up, examining the small scene inside. He shook it and watched as crisp white flakes settled around the Eiffel Tower. "Paris." He finally said. "We'll go to Paris."

There was a hoot of laughter at the door and both heads whipped around in surprise to find Dean standing there, leaning against the framework. 

"Why the hell would you want to go to Paris for?" He asked, grinning as Sam began to go red in the face from embarrassment. 

"Shut up Dean." He whispered and the image began to wobble and disperse, taking him to a different memory. 

He found himself standing in a graveyard beside a freshly dug plot, the body lying at the bottom burned, the flames that flickered and crackling of flesh and fabric were the only source of light and sound on this warm summers eve.   
The (H/C) haired girl stood beside him, her face and clothes flecked with dirt. They were older now, he was closing in on his sixteenth birthday and she had just turned fifteen. 

This was their tenth hunt together. 

Sam looked over at her, watching as she stared into the flames with an unreadable expression. Finally after a moment, she spoke. "I want to be a psychologist." She said, all the while still staring as the fire dimmed inside the grave. 

Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What?" He asked stupidly, wondering what had come over her all of a sudden. 

She turned to him, her mouth set in a thin line. "You asked me a while ago I wanted to be a hunter." She said before looking back. "I don't. Not really anyway."

Sam kept his eyes steadily trained on her, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He had been right, she was like him after all. Silently he reached in the dwindling light and found her hand, holding on to it long after the flames had died and they'd refilled the hole. 

His vision was met with a blaze again, only this time it was broad daylight. It didn't take him a second to realise what this memory was when his stomach churned horribly.  
Three stacks of logs and branches were piled haphazardly in the middle of a clearing by the lake, on top of each stack lay a body wrapped in linen. To his left stood his father, John, and Dean, who were looking upon the figures with hard expressions. Despite trying his best to remain calm, Sam could see his brother's lip tremble, green eyes glazed with withheld tears.   
There was a horrible wailing sound to his right and his head jerked in the direction of the noise, his heart practically in his throat as he saw the crumpled figure of his childhood friend, her shoulders wracking with sobs as Bobby knelt down beside her and gathered her in his arms. 

"I'm so sorry kid." He was whispering to her as she clutched on to him for dear life, blubbing into his shoulder. Sam went to reach for her but he was jolted awake. 

Eyes flying open, Sam sat up in the Impala, his breathing ragged and unsteady. "You okay Sammy?" Dean asked from his left and he nodded, ignoring the looks of concern his brother was casting him. 

Feeling something wet on his face Sam lifted up his hand and gingerly touched his cheek. 

He realised he had been crying.


End file.
